


Filled to the brim with joy and pain

by kerricker



Category: Black Jack (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 1970s attitudes about sexual health, 1970s attitudes about whether constant chain-smoking is a good idea, 1970s-progressive attitudes about gender identity, Black Jack is not technically in this but he's so present that I'm tagging him anyway, Discussion of Surgery, M/M, discussion of euthanasia, discussion of suicide, semi-sexual murder fantasies, this is basically fluff but it's fluff with Kiriko in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerricker/pseuds/kerricker
Summary: Kiriko, heading out to celebrate the conclusion of a job, is introduced to a handsome stranger.It turns out they have a mutual acquaintance.
Relationships: Black Jack/Dr. Kiriko, Black Jack/Kisaragi Kei, Dr. Kiriko/Kisaragi Kei
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Filled to the brim with joy and pain

**Author's Note:**

> I have no good explanation for this, except that somebody had to christen the pairing tag.
> 
> Like the tags say, this is basically fluff, but it does include Kiriko being real fucking weird about a) death, b) surgery, c) euthanasia, d) Black Jack, e) all of the above in various combinations. Content warning: contains Kiriko, basically.

The satisfaction of wrapping up a job was tempered a little by the irritation of dealing with relatives. One of the sons in particular had been making a nuisance of himself all day, and was still effusively present as Kiriko packed up his instruments. Kiriko had been tuning the man out for hours, was barely listening now to the yammering about _such a relief, my dear departed papa, the gratitude we all-_ The house was a lovely sprawling place full of modern furniture and ancient rugs, and they hadn’t balked for a second when Kiriko named his fee; no doubt the man really was grateful. But was it necessary to stand around talking about it? Kiriko interrupted the eulogy to ask if someone could be kind enough to call him a taxi.

“Not so fast, doctor, the least we can do is feed you before you go! Not here, no, everyone will be so busy making arrangements, but some old friends of mine are having a dinner in the city - it may seem heartless, leaving the family homestead at such a time, but my mother will have so much to do and I feel the responsible thing is to get out from underfoot, one less thing for her to worry about, she shouldn’t have to be arranging our dinner at the same time she has a funeral to plan - “ Did the man ever breathe? “And what’s more, I was on the telephone just now with an old school friend who’s a ship’s officer now - not the navy, one of those cargo boats, you know, that the big shipping companies run - and he tells me he’s bringing along a shipboard friend, another Japanese doctor. Perhaps you know each other!”

Kiriko had been on the point of refusing as curtly as necessary. He’d had plans for the evening, and they involved retreating to his hotel room to smoke, read, and avoid the hotel proprietor’s attempts to get medical advice out of him. Kiriko had tried to explain that earning a medical degree didn’t necessarily qualify you to treat every ailment under the sun - not every doctor could be Black Jack...

Another Japanese doctor, huh.

“There’s more than one medical school in Japan, you know,” Kiriko said, snapping the case latches shut. “But it’s always nice to meet a countryman. Which way are we headed?”

  


The old friends had packed the back room of the restaurant and were, on their arrival, well on the way to the raucous state of intoxication. In the midst of the revelry Kiriko was introduced to - 

“Dr. Kei Kisaragi, it’s a pleasure.”

\- a complete stranger. Really, what had he expected? Dr. Kisaragi shook hands with him in the foreign style. He was clean-cut, crisply dressed, rather on the small side - good-looking, Kiriko thought absently. He had lovely dark eyes, behind glasses that gave him the air of a young university lecturer. Kiriko took a seat and immediately had a drink pushed into his hand.

“They’ll pour neat whisky down your throat if you let them,” Kisaragi said wryly, eyes roaming across his compatriots. “Mikael, how many is that now? When you’re outside my door tomorrow begging for paracetamol, I’m going to laugh at you, you know.” Kiriko took a cautious sip and agreed with Kisaragi’s assessment.

“You know, Doc,” apparently-Mikael said, dropping heavily into a chair and clearly hoping to distract attention from the topic of his blood alcohol content, “when I heard there was another Japanese doctor, I thought it might be your friend, the fellow you sent poor what-was-his-name to. But it isn’t?” He peered at Kiriko. “Because. His name was something weird. Gin rummy? Blackjack.”

“Black Jack. He’s a friend of yours, Kisaragi?”

“We... knew each other once, yes. When I worked in a hospital in Japan. You’ve met him? He’s a remarkable man.” Kisaragi looked distant, focus inward.

“Has he really done all the shit they say? Doing three open-heart surgeries at once and like that?” Another sailor was leaning forward, interested. “I’ve heard some crazy fucking stories.”

“I don’t know about that one, but he’s pulled off some crazy fucking accomplishments,” Kisaragi said solemnly. He settled back and took a very small sip of his own drink. “Curing symptomatic rabies, transplanting the human brain from one person to another, turning boys into girls and back again... well, I’d believe just about anything. I've never met a doctor to match him.” His expression was distant.

“But you’re a really good doctor too! Remember when you sewed Leone’s leg back on?” Mikael was earnest in his attempt to bolster the doctor’s self-esteem. “You know what would cheer you up, you should come play-“

“I’ve got to have a word with Dr. Kiriko, but you kids have fun,” Kisaragi said firmly. He turned to Kiriko and said in Japanese without lowering his voice, “Please, talk to me about something, or he’s going to start trying to teach me their terrible dice game again.”

Kiriko laughed, honestly amused. “All right, lets see. How do you find shipboard work compared to hospital duty? Give me your impressions at as much length as possible.”

They went on talking as the dice game across the room went through its endless permutations. Superficial chatting mostly, where have you been lately and how did you like it, but Kisaragi was easy to talk to, and still easier on the eyes. The longer they sat together the more Kiriko was dwelling on it - how his hair curled at the nape of his neck, how his hands moved as he traced the rim of his glass. He had a trick of glancing sideways, just for a second, lashes lowering over his eyes. It was possible that Kiriko was misreading him. What the hell.

“This isn’t the most private place for a conversation, is it,” he said, reaching for his drink on the table, letting his wrist brush Kisaragi’s. “We ought to head back to my room later. Get to know each other a little better, maybe.”

“...Ah.” Kisaragi blinked at him. Not offended, seemingly, but a little taken aback. “That’s...” He hesitated. “Very kind of you, if I understand you, and I don’t object, I just, uh. Might not be able to provide what you’re looking for, I’m afraid.”

Which might mean a number of things, but Kiriko had been looking at Kisaragi all night, and with a flash of simple insight he was certain he understood. And that hadn’t been a refusal, so... “Because you think you might not be equipped?” He lifted his drink, very deliberately let his little finger trail up Kisaragi’s wrist as he did so. “That depends on what I want to do to you, doesn’t it?”

Kisaragi choked on his whisky so hard that it attracted the attention of the dice players. “You guys all right over there? What’s the joke?”

“Yes! Fine, fine.” Kisaragi was mopping up his drink. There was suppressed laughter in his voice. “It was - a pun, I couldn’t possibly translate, I’m no good at wordplay in English.”

“It’s difficult in a second language,” Kiriko said, and the conversation became general on the subject of which language was best for puns. Beneath the table Kisaragi’s knee touched his.

  


The party broke up slowly with much stumbling, talkative departure. He met Kisaragi waiting outside the door, coat already on, hands in his pockets. “Doctor Kiriko. Weren’t you saying earlier that you had a carton or two of Wakabas? It’s a brand of cigarette,” he added with a quick little smile towards Mikael. “Nobody sells them outside Japan, and you know how it is, when you’re in a foreign country...”

“Of course, naturally!” Mikael was effusive in his understanding; any little thing Kisaragi wanted, he ought to have. No doubt half the crew was half in love with him. Kiriko cut him off with “Of course, and we could go fetch a box now, if you don’t mind walking. My room’s only a few blocks away.”

“Now, don’t keep him out too late!” Mikael was unsteady in his determination. “Our Kei’s too nice to be wandering around the ports all by himself at night!” More than half. “Then I’ll certainly take good care of him,” Kiriko said over Kisaragi’s laughing _’what sort of trouble do you think i’ll get into-‘_

Mikael, still insisting with the seriousness of the extremely drunk on the priority of Kisaragi’s safety, was collected by his shipmates and faded into the distance. Kisaragi nodded at Kiriko and they moved off. Even at night, it wasn’t really cold, but a pleasant coolness had begun to settle in. Indecisive rain was misting up, turning the streetlamps into little prisms. Kisaragi wiped at his glasses with the cuff of his sleeve.

“I should tell you,” Kiriko said, “I’m afraid I smoke Pall Malls.”

“Well, I had to tell him something.” That quick little smile again, and then he was serious. “And I wanted to talk to you, doctor. How obvious is it? About me? I like to know who knows.”

“Not at all obvious.” The misty half-rain was dampening Kisaragi’s collar and starting to plaster down his hair. One could reach out and brush a wet lock of hair out of his eyes, if they weren’t on a public street, or if the world was different. “I didn’t actually realize until that moment. And probably only then since I had been looking at you closely. Because you’re very enjoyable to look at.” Kisaragi laughed just audibly, a little huff of breath. “And once or twice I have encountered something similar.” He considered how to put this. “I had a patient once who was suicidal. If someone truly wants to die, I don’t believe it would be ethical to stand in their way-“

“That’s a bit extreme,” Kisaragi said, sounding dubious.

“Well, I don’t go around encouraging mass self-destruction. But everyone has a right to do what they like with their own life.” They had stopped at a corner to let a truck pass. If they got onto discussing medical ethics, they might stay there all night. “I may be better-educated than a patient, and I may have a high opinion of my judgment in comparison to theirs, but what they do with their lives is their choice, whether I approve or not.”

“Even then, I don’t know.” Kisaragi looked troubled. “If I’d...” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then shook his head slightly and visibly dismissed whatever he had been thinking about. “No, you might be right. I appreciate the point about self-determination, at least, though I might not go as far as that with it.”

“I’m always willing to consider other perspectives,” Kiriko said easily. The road was clear again, and they started moving. “I was going somewhere with - the patient, that’s right. If someone wants to die, that’s one thing, but if they merely can’t stand to keep living the life they were born into, that’s a different problem with a different solution. And as a doctor I have an obligation to do as much as I can for them with the knowledge I have. Some people may disapprove, but what do we study medicine for in the first place, if not to improve lives?” And to alleviate suffering, but there was no need to get back on that subject. He didn’t necessarily object to debating medical ethics all night, but neither had it been his goal for the evening.

“Anyway, it’s not as though I could tell anyone, if that worries you. What explanation could I offer that doesn’t begin with me propositioning a handsome young man in a bar?”

“I don’t know how worried you are about your reputation, but that could be a bit awkward, it’s true.” Kisaragi followed him into the awning of the doorway. The rain was beginning to pick up. It was natural to press together under the flimsy protection of the canopy.

“Well,” Kiriko said, key in hand, “are you coming up? Though I can only offer international cigarettes?”

Kisaragi paused for a moment. Not apparently teasing, just thoughtful. His eyes glazed, distant, and then he focused on Kiriko again. “I would like that, yes.” His smile really was dazzling.

In the tiny lobby it was possible to hear some bustle taking place in the proprietor’s quarters. “Quietly,” Kiriko muttered with his hand on the stairwell door, “or the manager will be out here trying to get medical advice out of you.”

“There’s sickness in the house?” Kisaragi hesitated with a foot on the stair, his eyes drifting.

“So to speak. His wife is having some sort of difficulties in her pregnancy, I don’t know the details.”

“Ah.” Kisaragi’s expression fell. “I’m afraid it’s been years since I had any experience with obstetrics.” He followed Kiriko carefully up the creaking stairs.

“Wouldn’t come up much shipboard, I imagine.”

“Mm. Though in some other fields it’s been an educational experience.” He leaned beside the door as Kiriko unlocked it. “The sheer variety of ways in which young men of eighteen or twenty can injure themselves...”

“Not the wisest age, no.” For instance, Kiriko at nineteen had joined the army. He crossed to the window. Rain was falling now with a force to make up for its earlier hesitation, so he wedged the window just far enough open to get some air circulating. When he turned back Kisaragi was tidily hanging up his coat. In the flickering shaded light of the bedside lamp he looked just as good as he had at the restaurant, and Kiriko took a moment to appreciate the rolled-up sleeves and lean tanned forearms before offering him a cigarette.

Kisaragi accepted it and a light, and lit Kiriko’s in return before saying “Do you do this often? Proposition men in bars?” He sounded no more than curious. “I don’t often accept invitations to strangers’ hotel rooms, so I may be a bit out of practice.”

“I don’t make a regular habit of it, no. But tonight I felt like it was worth a shot. May as well enjoy ourselves while we’re alive.”

“Since our lives belong to us, huh? You have a point.” Kisaragi inhaled, blew out smoke towards the ceiling, watched it dissipate. “Why shouldn’t we try to enjoy ourselves? Dwelling on things that didn’t happen doesn’t do you any good, but even if you can’t help it, there’s no harm in distracting yourself for a while, is there?” Apparently he didn’t expect a response; without waiting for one he dropped his cigarette in the ashtray, crossed to Kiriko, went up on his toes, kissed him.

He was just as good to kiss as he looked. Kiriko pulled him in, memorized the feeling of his body warm and close and solid. The buttons of his shirt came quickly undone. "You're sure in a hurry," Kisaragi said cheerfully, helping to get his trousers undone. "Come on, let's lie down before I trip over - whoa!" Kiriko caught him, carried him the two steps to the bed, and collapsed on it.

They got themselves sorted out. Kisaragi, straddling him, leaned back to get his undershirt over his head. "Black Jack's work," he said, half-muffled by cotton, tapping his abdomen with his free hand like a lecturer's demonstration.

"Excellently done," Kiriko said, running a lazy admiring eye up Kisaragi's chest. The thought of Black Jack reminded him, and he tugged his own shirt open. "This was his, too." He indicated the site. "Partial hepatectomy."

"Oh?" Kisaragi let his shirt fall and bent down to trace a fingertip across the laparotomic incision. "He wasn't making much effort to reduce scarring." It was just a little questioning.

"It was under field conditions. And I believe he was finding me irritating." Kiriko leaned up for another kiss. "It's just possible that I wasn't the easiest patient."

"Doctors never are, are we?" Kisaragi dropped to his side on the mattress and Kiriko turned to kiss him again, one hand in his hair and one pressed between them. Kisaragi's own scars had been barely visible, were barely detectable now under Kiriko's sensitive fingertips, like the faintest possible ripple of water from air moving across a pond. Black Jack was never less than precise, but he had taken remarkable pains with Kisaragi, been not only exact but delicate. The scalpel and the suturing needle had touched him with exquisite care; Kisaragi's smooth warm skin was a record of reverence.

Black Jack wasn't there now. Kiriko bit Kisaragi's lower lip and felt him shiver.

“Let’s not talk about Black Jack right now,” Kisaragi said as though their thoughts had overlapped for a moment on some extra-sensory plane. “We - ah,” as Kiriko’s hand slid between his legs, found his swollen clit. “Yeah - that’s - nn.” He shifted, pressed closer, moved to straddle Kiriko’s thigh. “Like - like that, that’s good - “ Kiriko kissed his throat open-mouthed, tweaked his nipple and got a satisfying reaction - Black Jack had clearly been thorough.

And yet it wasn’t Black Jack who was here half-undressed with Kisaragi panting in his arms. Was it Kisaragi who had left, unable to bear that crazed intensity of focus for long? Had Black Jack found in the end that he preferred love from a distance, a tragic passion which could be admired aesthetically but which need never interfere with his busy schedule of sanctimonious clifftop brooding? Well, it didn’t matter much.

“Fuck, that’s - yes, ah, like that - “ Kisaragi came very prettily, lips parted and eyelashes fluttering. Kiriko stroked the back of his neck until he stopped shivering and drew a deep unsteady breath. “Fuck, that was good. Sheesh, I didn’t even get your trousers off.”

“I can’t imagine what distracted you.” Getting undressed in a single bed with another person was unexpectedly gymnastic, but eventually they were both naked and Kisaragi had one warm hand wrapped around his cock.

"That's _very_ nice," Kisaragi murmured, apparently ranking Kiriko on some personal scale. As the medical attendant to a ship full of idiot young men no doubt he saw plenty for comparison purposes. Amazing that it hadn't put him off the whole concept, really. "So. Would you like to fuck me? Or do you not like that kind of thing?"

"If you don't mind, then I wouldn't object. How do you want me?"

Kisaragi wanted him on top, and they shifted around on the tiny mattress, getting into position. Kiriko was keyed up hard, still shuddering with the resonance of Kisaragi's orgasm, and it was a bright relief when they got it aligned and he could push finally _in_ \- _fuck_ he was wet. Kisaragi inhaled sharply and clutched at Kiriko's shoulders.

"I might not be able to come again," he said shakily, "but keep going, that feels - really good." Kiriko hummed in acknowledgement of this obvious challenge and leaned down to find out where Kisaragi liked to be kissed. Neck yes, jawline yes, earlobe definitely yes as Kisaragi's blunt fingernails dug in. He was breathing a little harder now, clutching at Kiriko in a rhythm that Kiriko did his best to match.

It occurred to him that he and Black Jack now had something in common, in that both of them had been allowed inside Kisaragi's body, hah. Of course, when one put it like that, Black Jack had been in Kiriko, too... An odd thought, and one he had been distracted by before now. Black Jack's hands had been inside him; he had sliced through skin and fat and muscle and gone wrist-deep among the inner workings of Kiriko's body. Disconcerting to remember. Not that Kiriko remembered that much of the incident. Just his own resignation to death, and then Black Jack, eyes cold and dark with that incomprehensible drive, not giving a damn what Kiriko was resigned to.

Perhaps it wasn't so incomprehensible; Kiriko could understand the desire to practice one's vocation. If it had been Black Jack who needed his help - but that wasn't very likely. (Though he had thought about that, too, sometimes: what hellish extreme of pain or despair would it take, to leave Black Jack asking for the kind of help Kiriko could provide? Realistically there was probably nothing in the world that would do it, since the man seemed to run entirely on pressurized spite, but it was a pretty idea to contemplate: Black Jack, begging. On his knees, eyes wet, wracked with whatever agony had driven him to Kiriko - Kiriko, the only one who held the power to release him from pain - )

"Oh," Kisaragi said, wide-eyed, "oh, that's good, yeah, come on - " At some point he had worked one hand down between their bodies. Kiriko kissed his ear again, ran his tongue along the outer rim as Kisaragi whimpered and rocked up against him. "Come _on_ \- oh - " It trailed off plaintively, and he grabbed a handful of Kiriko's hair and clenched hot and tight and sweet on his cock. "Fuck! Fuck." He relaxed slowly into pliancy, fingers loosening in Kiriko's hair. "No, that's fine, keep going," drawing gentle circles on the nape of Kiriko's neck.

It wasn't going to take long. Kiriko kissed him quick and sloppy. His mind was still running on the thought of Black Jack, and it occurred to him that no doubt they would meet again soon, with the way they always did seem to run into each other. For a moment he entertained the fantasy of telling him, of leaning over his shoulder at some railway station or hotel bar and murmuring " _Hazama-san, how nice to see you again, what have you been up to since last we met, personally I was making your boyfriend come twice in fifteen minutes -_ " He whited out a little, thrust so hard Kisaragi yelped. "Sorry," he muttered, "just - give me a moment - " Of course it would be stupid to tell him, but it was almost as good to think about talking to him, knowing. Inevitably they would meet again, and speak as politely as Black Jack felt like being, and all the time Kiriko would have this pretty scene to remember: Kisaragi in his arms, damp with sweat and lax with pleasure, ah, fuck - he came hard, face buried in Kisaragi's soft shoulder, mind for a moment blank of anything else.

"Okay, you can get off me now," Kisaragi said, poking him. They pried themselves apart, messily. "Sorry about that," Kisaragi said with a vaguely directed handwave. "I ought to have asked."

"It's fine, it's not like there'll be any need for you to take responsibility. Where did we leave the cigarettes?" Kiriko got up and fetched them, leaned over the bed to light Kisaragi’s.

"I ought to be thinking about getting back," Kisaragi said, watching the smoke drift in slow spirals towards the ceiling, "but..." He cast an unenthusiastic eye at the window. The rain was coming down now like heavy muffled drumbeats.

"Stick around for the night," Kiriko suggested, sitting on the edge of the bed. "If the rain's not a plausible excuse, say that I broke out another bottle of whisky and got so drunk you felt obliged to stick around and keep a medical eye on me."

"You're really not worried about your reputation, are you? But yes, that sounds good. Come over here." Kisaragi was, apparently, a cuddler. Kiriko had no objections.

  


He woke to slanting late-morning sunlight and an empty bed. Kisaragi's clothes were gone, and his own were folded in a tidy stack. Something on the tiny nightstand proved on investigation to be a receipt for a bottle of Lambrusco, on which had been written in tiny neat characters,

_Sorry to run, but I hated to wake you. I'd like to thank you for a very pleasant evening, and if we ever run into each other again, I'd be happy to buy you a drink and catch up. Until that day, yours,"_

and he'd signed it with a Latin-alphabet K with fancy little serifs. No contact details, Kiriko noted. Well, it was probably for the best. He folded it and, though he wasn't a man who kept souvenirs, slipped it into his wallet.

With no pressing business on hand, he dressed lazily and headed downstairs, making mental plans about coffee and rolls at the cafe down the street. The building's lobby, he found, was being swept out by a woman he didn't recognize. Doors were open, and there was a general air of hasty departure about the place. He paused at the door. "Something happen to the manager?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, he left very urgently. His wife, you know, had that whole - " A gesture apparently indicating prenatal difficulties. "He heard of a visiting doctor in, well, you won't know where it is, the next town but one up the coast, and nothing would do but they have to go see him. Left at four in the morning, though there's a perfectly good train departing at noon, you know!"

"And plenty of doctors here," Kiriko said, lighting a cigarette.

"That's so, but it seems this one is supposed to be some kind of genius. A foreigner who's done all kinds of operations, from heads of state to wild beasts, and charges the earth, I hear, but they have to rush off and see him immediately, no matter the cost! Good of him to worry, though," she added charitably.

"Hm." Kiriko glanced at his watch. Eleven-thirty.

Coffee would have to wait, then.

If he wanted to catch a noon train, he'd have to hurry.

**Author's Note:**

> "BJ finds out and spends 20 minutes just deciding which part to be upset about first" - ushas42 being extremely correct about the aftermath of this incident


End file.
